Shadows, стр. 8
Time crept by as the airship lined up with the docking towers and the crew attached the clips. Heavy ropes ran up the poles to raise and lower the ship using several large beasts to turn winches. It was a slow process, with lots of jerks and stops, but eventually Yukannak stepped out of the gondola onto the powdery soil of the plateau north of Imsurmik.
“Greetings, Silci Yukannak,” said a man with the white-painted face of a J’Stull. A red smudge on each temple marked him as a commander, which immediately pumped cortisol and adrenaline into Yukannak’s veins. The fight or flight impulse nearly overwhelmed his self-control, but the only outward sign of his inward struggle was a twitch of the left eye. “I am Subitorni. Welcome to Imsurmik.” Using one finger, the J’Stull motioned for the four guards with him, each with various designs on their white paint, to retrieve the silci’s luggage.
“Your courtesy is appreciated, Subitorni,” Yukannak said. “I look forward to working together, as I’m sure we both wish for the Harvesting to go well.”
“We do, Silci.”
“How goes the early collection?”
“I am told it exceeds estimates, but, as you may imagine, my duties lie elsewhere. In the meantime, there are worse places to prepare for the Sear than Imsurmik.”
“It has its charms, then?”
“It does indeed. And this man knows them all.” With that, Subitorni motioned for another man to step forward. He was shorter and heavier, with a green-painted face marked by yellow stripes on each cheek. Once close enough, Subitorni lowered his voice so the guards couldn’t hear. “This is Zeesar, an important local militia leader and a man who knows more about the ways of the city than even the F’ahdn. He is the yuzbazzi of Imsurmik, a man who the F’ahdn relies on to enforce his will. Because time is short and the harvesters are flooding the city in larger numbers every day, I asked him to act as your guide.”
Zeesar turned his right hand so the forefinger touched his lips and the pinkie finger pointed at Yukannak in the local gesture of respect. Having read up on Imsurmik’s peculiar customs, Yukannak knew that if the middle finger touched the bottom of the nose it was an insult. His didn’t.
“I am honored to be of service to our beloved satrap,” Zeesar said, his eyes cast down but his mouth tilted up at the corners, “through his trusted and most respected silci. I pray that my humble efforts will prove worthy.”
Yukannak smiled in turn. While nothing about Zeesar relaxed him, he knew the man’s type well; his loyalty lay with whoever could do him the most good, and, at the moment, that was Yukannak. That intuition, well-honed in the crucible of Kulsian politics, is what had allowed him to survive so long in what often proved a short-lived and sometimes fatal profession. Particularly for one of his background. Familiarity with Zeesar’s type was not a substitute for trust, though.
“I suspect your efforts are rarely humble, Zeesar,” he said, “but thank you. I’m sure you will prove a great help to me.”
With all his luggage unloaded, and the airship’s crew preparing to return home, Yukannak walked with Subitorni and Zeesar toward the edge of the plateau more than half a mile south, the guards trailing behind. They’d gone fifty paces before he asked if they had to walk the entire way. Instead of answering, Subitorni smiled and led them ten paces more, stopping at a waist-high dirt mound, where Yukannak spotted tracks in the ground that abruptly ended with no further sign.
Subitorni made an upward motion with his hand. Ahead, a man hidden in a clump of scrub trees stepped forward and, using the heel of his boot, kicked the ground. It made a hollow sound, as from wood. Then the creak of hinges needing oil preceded a large square rising from the dirt, leaving an opening into a dark space underneath. A small vehicle rumbled up a ramp and out onto the plateau floor.
With instincts honed over decades of dangerous in-fighting to read the slightest facial clues in possible enemies, Yukannak focused his peripheral vision on Zeesar and was rewarded by the militia leader’s brief, nearly imperceptible squint in the direction of the J’Stull commander. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Although nobody else would have given the expression a second thought, it told Yukannak two important things: Zeesar had been surprised by the trap door, and that surprise meant that Zeesar didn’t expect Subitorni to be keeping secrets about events outside the city. By Subitorni’s own words, that should have been Zeesar’s responsibility.
“Please forgive the need to walk so far, my lord,” Subitorni said, “especially with the sun high overhead, but the Offworlders are rumored to be in the area. They have aircraft of an unusual design that are small and very fast.”
“And you do not wish anyone to know of this entrance?”
“We do not.”
Strictly out of habit, Yukannak took the chance to drive a wedge between two of the power brokers of Imsurmik, as doing so might reveal ambitions he could exploit. “So only the F’ahdn’s most trusted advisors know of its existence?” he asked.
“Yes,” Subitorni said without thinking. Then, rethinking his answer as Zeesar’s nostrils flared, he said, “but not all of the F’ahdn’s advisors, because it was only recently finished and some have only just returned to the city. There hasn’t been time to inform them of everything. Mostly, though, we are worried about the Offworlders.”
“The growing presence of the Offworlders is part of the reason for my visit,” Yukannak lied. “I am to judge your preparedness in